“I won’t marry Lorenzo now.”

“Certainly not,” Lorenzo’s mother replied. “But I have another son. I agree he’s done little to recommend himself to you, but Renato is to blame for this and Renato must put it right.” Baptista continued in her most regal manner, “Your marriage should take place immediately.”

There was one moment’s total, thunderstruck silence. Heather tried to speak, but couldn’t.

“In my day a young woman knew better than to laugh at an eligible match,” Baptista said with haughty disapproval.

“But Renato isn’t an eligible match,” Heather pointed out. “One, he doesn’t want to marry anyone. Two, he doesn’t want to marry me. Three, hell will freeze over before I marry him. It’s out of the question.”

“You came here to marry a son of this house, and that’s what you must do.”

Dear Reader,

Being married to an Italian, I take a special delight in writing about Italian men—the most fascinating and endearing men on earth. I’ve enjoyed telling the stories of the three Martelli brothers.

Although linked by kinship, they are all different. Lorenzo, the youngest, is a merry charmer. Bernardo is aloof, a loner. Renato, the eldest, is head of the family, a man of confidence and power. But his power is a two-edged sword, and his reliance on it nearly destroys his life and that of Heather, the woman who loves him.

And then there is Sicily, their home, one of the most beautiful places on earth, where people’s true passions rise to the surface, giving them the courage to follow their hearts.

Wife by Arrangement is about Heather and Renato, the story of how a woman disarms a strong man by teaching just how powerful love can be. Look out next month for Husband by Necessity.

With best wishes,

Wife By Arrangement
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is for Nikki Little who gave generously of her time.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

‘HEY, Heather—your Sicilian lover is here.’

Heather looked up self-consciously. ‘Lorenzo isn’t my lover!’ she insisted. ‘Just—just—’

‘Just good friends?’ Sally suggested wickedly. ‘Well, if the man out there isn’t your lover, he ought to be. Big and sexy with “come to bed” eyes. If he was mine, I wouldn’t waste time not sleeping with him.’

‘Will you keep your voice down?’ Heather said frantically, aware that every woman in the staff room was regarding her with interest. She was taking her afternoon break from the perfume counter of Gossways, London’s most luxurious department store. The worldly-wise Sally was on the next counter.

Heather got to her feet, smiling at the thought of Lorenzo Martelli, the light-hearted, handsome young man who had swept into her life a month ago and made her head spin.

‘I didn’t know you knew Lorenzo by sight,’ she told Sally.

‘I don’t, but he asked for you. Besides, he looks just like a Sicilian should: incredibly sensual, as if he’d take a woman to bed as soon as look at her. Hurry up and get out there, or I’ll have him myself!’

Heather chuckled and returned to her counter, eager to see Lorenzo. He’d come to England on a business trip that was supposed to last two weeks, but he’d been enchanted by Heather’s quiet charm and stayed on, unable to tear himself away from her. They were going out together tonight. Now she was delighted at the thought of seeing him early.

But it wasn’t Lorenzo.

Lorenzo was tall, fair, curly-haired, in his late twenties. This man was past thirty. There was a slight scar on one side of his face and his features, which were too irregular to be handsome, were marred by a touch of harshness.

He was tall and heavily built, his shoulders wide, his hair black. He had the dark eyes and olive skin of the southern Italian, but he had something more. Heather couldn’t put a name to it, but she knew at once why Sally, who judged each man by his bedworthiness, had reacted strongly. It was because he judged every woman the same way. It was there in his eyes, that were lazy without ever quite being off guard: the instinctive question—do I want to sleep with her? Yes? No? Probably yes. How much of a challenge would she be?

Heather was startled to receive such a look. Her fine features were pretty without being beautiful. Her hair was very light brown, but not exactly blonde, and although her slim figure was graceful it wasn’t voluptuous. At twenty-three she’d never known the tribute of a wolf whistle, and no man had ever raked her up and down as this one was doing.

‘Are you the gentleman who was asking for me?’ she asked.

He glanced at the nameplate pinned to her white blouse. ‘I am.’

His voice was dark and deep, with an accent that coloured the words without obscuring them. Not like Lorenzo’s light, teasing tones.

‘You were recommended by a friend of mine whom you served—a Mr Charles Smith, but you won’t remember him among so many customers. I’m buying for several ladies, including my mother. She’s in her sixties, very respectable, but perhaps secretly wishing her life had been a little more exciting.’

‘I know what she’d like,’ Heather said, producing a fragrance that was a little daring, but not outrageous. She was touched and impressed by this man’s understanding of his mother.

‘That will suit her perfectly,’ he said. ‘But now we come to the more delicate part of the business. I have a lady-friend—beautiful, sensual, with very expensive tastes. Her name is Elena, and her personality is extravagant, mysterious and passionate.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

In a flash she found herself understanding all sorts of things. For instance, how Elena would be very drawn to this man who, despite his lack of conventional beauty, had an impressiveness that—she put a firm brake on her thoughts.

‘Perfectly, sir,’ she said crisply. ‘I’d suggest “Deep of the Night”.’

‘It sounds just like her,’ he agreed shamelessly.

She rubbed a drop of the perfume on her wrist and held it out to him. He inhaled slowly, then took her wrist between his fingers and brought it close to his face. She had a sudden impression of fierce, controlled power behind his civilised manner, as though she’d been strolling through a sedate garden and seen a tiger lurking behind the leaves, ready to spring. She resisted the impulse to snatch her hand back.

‘Admirable,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the large flagon.’

Heather almost gasped. The large flagon was the costliest item in a very costly range. Her commission on this sale was beginning to look very good. Perhaps even good enough to buy a really beautiful wedding dress…

She stopped that thought in its tracks. It was undignified to hope for something that probably wouldn’t happen.

‘Now, another lady, with a different personality—light-hearted and fun.’

“‘Summer Dance” might suit her. It’s fresh and flowery—’

‘But not naive?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Certainly not. Insouciant but sophisticated.’

She tested it on the other arm and again he took her wrist, holding it a quarter-inch from his face. Heather could feel his warm breath against her skin and she wished he would let her go. But that was an absurd over-reaction, she told herself sensibly. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were closed and he was in a faraway world, with his various mistresses. His hold on her wrist was quite impersonal.

But then the thought crept in that nothing was impersonal with him. This was a man with whom everything—every kind word, every cruel one, every insult, every wound to his pride, every gesture of love—would be taken deeply personally. And for that reason he was very, very dangerous: perhaps the most dangerous man she had ever encountered. When he opened his eyes and looked at her she realised that she’d been holding her breath.

‘Perfetto,’ he murmured. ‘How well we understand each other.’

He released her and she felt as though she were awakening from a dream. She could still feel the pressure on her wrist where he’d held it with such soft, yet irresistible power. She pulled herself firmly together.

‘I try to understand all my customers, signore,’ she replied. ‘It’s my job.’

He made a face of appreciation. ‘Signore? So you understand Italian?’

She smiled. ‘I know some Italian and about ten words of Sicilian.’

She didn’t know what had made her mention Sicilian, except perhaps a desire to know if this man really did come from the same part of the world as Lorenzo. It seemed that he did.

He regarded her with amused curiosity, murmuring, ‘I wonder why you are learning my dialect.’

‘I’m not exactly learning it,’ she disclaimed hastily. ‘I just picked up a few words from a friend.’

‘And doubtless your friend is a handsome young man. Has he yet told you that you are grazziusu?’

‘I think we should concentrate on your purchases,’ Heather said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Lorenzo had used exactly that word to her only the night before, explaining that it was one of the many Sicilian words for beautiful. She shouldn’t be talking like this with a stranger. But he was like a magician, who could twist the conversation this way and that with a wave of an invisible wand. He had said grazziusu with a soft, seductive power that even Lorenzo, in his ardour, hadn’t matched.

‘I see that you understand the word, and not from a dictionary,’ he observed. ‘I’m glad your lover appreciates you.’

No wonder this man had several mistresses if he went about talking like this. Doubtless she too was supposed to be flattered. But she refused to go weak at the knees. It had been a long day, and her legs were tired. That was all.

‘Shall we return to the matter in hand?’ she asked.

‘If we must. What next?’

Heather regarded him levelly. ‘Let me get this clear, signore. Just how many lady-friends are you trying to—er—keep happy?’

He grinned shamelessly, giving an eloquent shrug. ‘Is it important?’

‘It is if they have different personalities.’

‘Very different,’ he confirmed. ‘I like one to suit each mood. Minetta is light-hearted, Julia is musical, and Elena is darkly sensual.’

He was trying to unsettle her; there was no doubt of it. His eyes spoke meanings that went far beyond what his lips were saying. She observed briskly, ‘Well, that should make things nice and simple.’

‘Simple?’

‘A man of only three moods.’

She was startled at herself. A good sales assistant thought only of the sale. She didn’t backchat the customer and risk offending him. But he wasn’t offended. He even seemed amused at her swift riposte.

‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘Three isn’t enough. I have a vacancy for a witty lady, which you could fill perfectly.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t suit you at all,’ she fenced.

‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘I am. Completely sure.’

‘I wonder why.’ He was laughing.

Heather laughed back. She was beginning to take his measure. ‘Well, for a start, I’d never agree to be part of a crowd. You’d have to get rid of all the others.’

‘I’m sure you’d make it worth my while.’

‘If I felt that you were worth it,’ she said daringly. ‘But you wouldn’t be, because I’m not in the market.’

‘Ah, yes, of course! You already have a lover.’

There was that word again. Why was the whole world harping on lovers all of a sudden?

‘Let’s just say that I have a young man who suits me.’

‘And he comes from Sicily, since you are learning his language. Which also means that you’re hoping to marry him.’

To her dismay Heather felt a revealing blush creep over her face. To cover it she spoke sharply. ‘If you mean that I’ve set my cap at him, you’re wrong. And this conversation is over.’

‘Forgive me. It’s not my business.’

‘Indeed it isn’t.’

‘But I hope he isn’t leading you on a fool’s dance, seducing you with hints of marriage, and then vanishing back to his own country.’

‘I’m not that easily seduced. Neither by him nor—by anyone,’ she finished hastily, wondering why her mind had scurried down that particular by-path.

‘Then you haven’t allowed him into your bed. That’s either very neglectful of him, or very clever of you. I wonder which.’

Indignantly she challenged him with a direct gaze, and what she saw startled her. Despite the teasing sensuality of his words, his eyes held the same dispassionate calculation he would have shown to a high-priced purchase.

‘You don’t dress like the others,’ he remarked. ‘Why?’

It was true. Heather was perfectly made-up and her long hair was elegantly styled, courtesy of the store’s beauty parlour. But whereas the other assistants, with their employer’s encouragement, dressed in slightly provocative styles, Heather stuck firmly to conventional clothes. Her skirt was black, her blouse was snow-white and fresh. Her boss had suggested that she might ‘put herself about more’, but she had refused, and since her sales figures were excellent the matter had been allowed to drop.

‘I think,’ the man persisted, ‘it’s because you’re a proud and subtle woman—too proud to put everything in the window. And subtle enough to know that when a woman holds back she’s at her most alluring. By covering yourself up you make a man wonder how you would look without clothes.’

It was a direct, frontal attack from a man with all the nerve in the world, and something in Heather was wryly appreciative even while something else warned her to put him firmly in his place.

‘Can I interest you in anything more, sir?’ she asked primly.

‘You could interest me in a good deal,’ he responded at once. ‘Let me take you to dinner, and we can discuss my interest in you.’

‘That wasn’t what I—still, I suppose I could have phrased that question more cleverly, couldn’t I?’

‘I thought you phrased it perfectly. I’m interested; I’ve made that plain. And I’m a generous man. I doubt your boyfriend will marry you. He’ll disappear, leaving you with a broken heart.’

‘And you’ll leave me dancing for joy, I suppose?’ she couldn’t resist answering.

‘It depends what makes you dance for joy. Shall we say ten thousand pounds to start with? Play your cards right, and I think you could do very well out of me.’

‘And I think the sooner you leave you the better. I’m not interested in you or your money, and if you say another word I shall call Security.’

‘Twenty thousand pounds.’

‘Shall I gift-wrap these items for you, sir, or have you changed your mind now you know you’ll get nothing from me?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’d better find a woman who’s selling herself. I’m only selling perfume. I take it you don’t want these.’

He shrugged. ‘There’d hardly be any point, would there? Of course, it’s a shame about the commission you would have earned.’

‘Commission be blowed!’ Heather said very deliberately. ‘The store is about to close. Goodbye! Don’t come back!’

He gave her a grin that contained a hint of challenge, and walked out with the air of a man who’d achieved something, although for the life of her she couldn’t think what.

She was furious, both with him and herself. He’d raised false hopes for her pay packet, and he’d insulted her. But, far worse, for a brief moment he’d persuaded her to find him charming. Part of her had enjoyed the light-hearted game she’d thought they were playing. But then she’d seen the cold calculation in his eyes, and she’d known that the woman who went to this man’s bed for money would be a fool. And the woman who did it for love would be an even greater fool.

She hurried home. Her flatmate was out so she had the place to herself as she prepared for the evening ahead with Lorenzo Martelli, the young man Sally called ‘her lover’. He wasn’t her lover, nor had he tried to urge her into bed, for which she liked him more.

In the month she’d known him she seemed to have been under a spell, something lovelier than reality, with none of reality’s pain and trouble. She didn’t call it love, because the word ‘love’ summoned up Peter, and a wilderness of suffering at the brutal way he’d dumped her. She only knew that Lorenzo had charmed her out of her sadness.

She’d met him through a buyer in the Gossways Food Hall. The Martellis dealt in Sicilian fruit and vegetables, much of which they grew on the vast family estates around Palermo. What they couldn’t supply themselves they bought in from other growers, taking nothing but the very best. Even so, Gossways had a special deal under which it accepted only produce grown by the Martellis themselves. Lorenzo had recently been appointed export manager of the business, and was visiting customers, introducing himself.

He lived like a young king at the Ritz Hotel. Sometimes he took her to eat there; sometimes they found a tiny place by the river. But always there was a gift, sometimes valuable, sometimes silly, given with a tribute in his eyes. She didn’t know what it might mean for the future. Lorenzo had a touch of the playboy whose charm and looks won his way through life. She guessed that back in Sicily there were a dozen young women who would be disappointed if he were to marry. Of course, she wasn’t counting on marriage. She told herself that many times. She knew that his charm and admiration were doing her a world of good, and when he left without her she would cope somehow.

Tonight she found his message on the answer-machine, urging her to wear the pale blue silk dress he’d bought for her, which brought out the dark blue of her eyes. They were large eyes, and they gave her face distinction, even beauty.

As always he arrived five minutes before the agreed time, with a red rose, which he gave her with a flourish, and a pearl necklace which he’d bought to go with the dress.

The sight of him made her smile with happiness. He was a handsome young giant, six foot two, with a booming laugh and good-natured grin that invited the whole world to share his pleasure.

‘Tonight is a great occasion,’ he told her. ‘My older brother, Renato, has arrived from Sicily.’ He added ruefully, ‘I should have gone home two weeks ago. He knows I stayed because of you, and now he wants to meet you. We are his guests at the Ritz tonight.’

‘But we were going to the theatre—’

‘Could you bear not to? I have rather neglected business recently—’ he flicked her cheek gently ‘—all your fault.’

‘Tossing me into the lions’ den, huh?’ she asked with a chuckle.

He put his arm around her. ‘We’ll go in together.’

On the short journey to the Ritz he talked about his brother, who ran the vast family estates in Sicily. By hard work and shrewd dealing he’d transformed the vineyards and olive groves, making them produce three times as much, buying up land, expanding, making Martelli the top name in fine produce in every luxury store and hotel throughout the world.

‘He thinks of nothing but work,’ Lorenzo complained. ‘How he can make more money, and more money. Me, I prefer spending it.’

‘I’m sure he knows that. He wants to see who you’re spending it on.’ She touched the pearls, which were elegant and restrained, but clearly expensive.

‘He’s ready to like you. Trust me.’ As they reached the Ritz and he handed her from the taxi, Lorenzo murmured, ‘Don’t be afraid of him.’

‘I’m not. Are you afraid of him?’

‘No way. But he’s the head of the family, and in Sicily that’s very important. However fierce he was, he was always my wonderful big brother who’d stick by me, help sort out my problems—’

‘Deal with the girls’ fathers?’ Heather suggested mischievously.

Lorenzo cleared his throat. ‘That’s all in the past. Let’s go in.’

Heather was curious to meet this man who was so important in Lorenzo’s life. She looked around at the luxurious restaurant with its elegant marble and floor-to-ceiling French windows, hung with heavy red curtains.

On the far side a man sat alone at a table. He rose as they approached him, a polite smile of welcome on his face. Heather strove to match it through the tide of indignation that welled up in her.

‘Good evening, signorina,’ Renato Martelli said, giving her a courteous little bow. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

‘You mean, meet me again, don’t you?’ she asked coolly. ‘You surely can’t have forgotten our encounter in Gossways this afternoon?’

‘What’s this?’ Lorenzo asked. ‘You’ve met before?’

‘Earlier today,’ Renato Martelli confirmed. ‘I was impatient to see the lady of whom I’ve heard so much, so I adopted a subterfuge, for which I hope I’ll be forgiven.’ He was smiling as he raised her hand to his lips.

Heather regarded him wryly. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

Renato gallantly pulled out a gilt-and-plush chair for her, and the three of them sat down.

‘What subterfuge?’ Lorenzo asked, looking from one to the other.

‘Your brother came to my counter, posing as a customer,’ Heather told him.

‘I thought we could assess each other in a more natural atmosphere,’ Renato explained.

‘Each other?’ she murmured.

‘I’m sure you formed your own opinion of me.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘I certainly did.’

She left it there. She was far from finished but she didn’t want to look as though she were sulking. A waiter appeared with the menu and when he’d given the order Renato added, ‘And a bottle of your very finest champagne.’

At this hint of approval Lorenzo grinned. Perversely Heather found herself even more annoyed. Was she supposed to jump for joy because Renato Martelli had tossed her a crumb of favour?

She would never have guessed they were brothers. She knew that over the centuries the island of Sicily had been invaded so often that many racial types—Greek, Arab, Italian, French, Spanish, Celtic—were mixed in its inhabitants. There was something Greek in Lorenzo’s fine looks, blue eyes and light brown curly hair. Despite his size his movements were graceful.

She guessed Renato was one of those men who had come to manhood in his early teens. It was hard to picture him as a boy. Perhaps an Italian ancestor had given him those vivid looks, but the air of haughty pride came from a Spaniard, and there was something Celtic in the mobility of his face, the sensuality of his wide mouth.

His features were fierce and irregular, and at first sight he was put in the shade by his beautiful younger brother. But there was a dark glitter in his eyes that compelled attention, and he had an extra something that made looks irrelevant. In a room full of handsome men, Renato Martelli would be the one women looked at, and wondered about.

He was powerfully built, with a massiveness about him that reminded Heather of a bull. Yet he carried no extra weight. His body was hard and athletic, the heavy muscles pressing against the expensive cloth of his suit, as though formal clothes didn’t come naturally to him. He was a man made for the outdoor life, riding a horse, surveying his acres, or anything he could do in shirtsleeves.

The champagne was served in tall crystal glasses. Renato raised his in salute. ‘To the pleasure of meeting you,’ he told Heather.

‘To our meeting,’ she replied, significantly changing the words. There was the briefest flicker on Renato’s face that might have been acknowledgement.

Over cream of cauliflower soup with ribbons of smoked salmon, he talked about Lorenzo and his lengthened visit to England.

‘He should have left two weeks ago, but always there are excuses, and I start to understand that some great power is holding him here. And that power comes from a woman. For the first time he is talking about marriage—’

‘Renato—’ Lorenzo groaned.

‘Ignore him,’ Heather said. ‘He’s trying to disconcert you.’

‘You seem to understand me by instinct, signorina,’ Renato said, impressed.

‘I don’t need instinct. Experience will do. You spent the afternoon trying to disconcert me. You like to wrong-foot people.’

He raised his champagne glass in ironic salute, but his eyes, over the rim, were suddenly harder, alert. ‘Touché!’ he said. ‘I see I shall have to beware of you.’

‘What a good idea,’ she agreed sweetly. ‘Do go on. Lorenzo was talking about marriage and you rushed to England to see if I was good enough.’

‘I came to discover if you were as wonderful as he says,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘And I find that you are.’

It was charmingly said but she wasn’t fooled. This was a man who did nothing except for his own reasons. But if he thought she was going to make it easy for him he had another think coming.

‘Let’s be frank,’ she said with a challenging smile. ‘Lorenzo is a Martelli. He could marry an heiress. When you found him paying attention to a humble shop assistant it set your alarm bells ringing. That, Signor Martelli, is the truth. The rest is just fancy talk.’

Lorenzo groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Renato reddened slightly. ‘Now it is you who are trying to disconcert me.’

‘And I’m not doing too badly either,’ she murmured.

His response was a grin that blazed out suddenly, taking her by surprise. It was brilliant, intensely masculine, and it came from a fire deep within him.

‘Then I too will be frank,’ he told her. ‘Humble shop assistant! That is nonsense. You feel no more humble than I do. You’re a strong woman, even an arrogant one, who thinks she could take on the world, and win. You certainly believe you could get the better of me. You might even be right.’

‘Always assuming that I’ll need to fight you,’ she said lightly. ‘But will I?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t finally decided.’

‘I await your decision in fear and trembling,’ she told him in an ironic tone that conveyed just the opposite.

He raised his glass in salute. Heather raised hers in return, but she was still on her guard.

‘That’s the spirit, darling,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Don’t let him scare you.’

‘Let her fight her own battles,’ Renato told him. ‘She’s more than capable of it. You see,’ he added to Heather, ‘I know a lot about you. You left school at sixteen and got a job in a paper shop. For the next four years you went from job to job, always behind a counter, always climbing a little higher, until three years ago you came to work at Gossways.

‘You sought a place on their training programme that leads to management, but Gossways refused, saying they take only college graduates. So you set out to prove them wrong. You worked hard, studied languages, badgered them. At last, impressed by your persistence and your splendid sales figures, they gave in, and offered you a place on the next programme. Humble shop assistant! You’re a formidable woman.’

‘Hey, I didn’t know all that,’ Lorenzo said.

‘Your brother has been asking Gossways Head Office about me,’ Heather explained. ‘Snooping.’

‘Gathering intelligence,’ Renato suggested.

‘Snooping,’ she said firmly. ‘And it was very rude.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You don’t think I did anything like that, do you, darling?’

‘You didn’t think of it,’ Renato informed him scathingly.

Heather felt a sudden need to get away from the two men, so that she could breathe freely. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ she said, rising.

She found the powder room and sat gazing at her own reflection in an ornate gilt mirror, wondering why the world always seemed to be the wrong way up. She was being wined and dined at the Ritz, by two attractive men who were giving her their whole attention. That should have made her a woman to be envied, and if she’d been alone with Lorenzo she would have thought so too.

But Renato Martelli made her very, very suspicious.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN Heather was out of earshot Renato said, ‘My compliments. She’s charming.’

‘You really like her?’ Lorenzo asked.

‘Yes, I think she’s admirable. I admit that I expected a floozy, but she’s a lady, which must be a first for you. It’s time you settled down.’

‘Now wait,’ Lorenzo said hastily. ‘You’re rushing me. Why did you tell her I mentioned marriage?’

‘Because you did.’

‘I said if I was thinking about marriage it would be to someone like her. It’s a very big step.’

‘All the more reason to take it while you’re young enough to be influenced by a good woman.’

‘You didn’t.’

Renato gave a wolfish grin. ‘Apart from our mother no woman has ever influenced me.’

‘That’s not what I heard. Wasn’t her name Magdalena—? All right, all right,’ he finished hastily, looking at his brother’s expression.

‘Magdalena Conti didn’t influence me,’ Renato said coldly. ‘She merely taught me that permanent relationships are not for me. But it’s different with you. Beneath your irresponsible ways you have the makings of an excellent husband.’

‘Oh, no! I see your game. One of us has to marry and provide a Martelli heir, and you’ve cast me as the sacrificial lamb. Well, to hell with you, brother! You’re the eldest. You do it.’

‘Forget it. I’m past praying for.’

‘And you don’t want to give up your nice enjoyable life with all those accommodating ladies,’ Lorenzo said indignantly.

‘Fidelity has no charms for me,’ Renato admitted.

‘Why can’t Bernardo do the family duty? He’s our brother.’

‘Our half-brother. He carries our father’s blood but not his name, owing to the circumstances of his birth. Besides, he isn’t Mamma’s son, and his children wouldn’t be her grandchildren. No, it has to be one of us, and you’re the one who’s in love.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Hush, she’s coming back. Don’t be a fool. Make sure of her while you can.’

They rose to greet Heather and Lorenzo kissed her hand. She’d recovered her poise and accepted his tribute with a smile, but inwardly she was still wary.

During the main course a number of visitors came to their table, all of whom eyed Heather curiously, and she began to be self conscious. It was like dipping a toe in shallow water and finding yourself swept away by a tidal wave. Something was happening here that she didn’t understand.

At last the visitors had all gone. As Heather was enjoying her chocolate mousse Renato said, ‘Lorenzo, I see Felipe di Stefano over there. He’s a man you need to speak to.’

When Lorenzo had gone they looked at each other. ‘I thought you’d appreciate the chance to tell me exactly what you think of me,’ Renato said.

‘If I did that we’d be here all night.’

He laughed. ‘Go on, say it.’

‘Where do I start? Where would it end? Your impertinence in checking up on me with my employers, and then this afternoon—Charles Smith never existed, did he?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘You were auditioning me, sizing me up to see if I was “suitable”.’

‘Certainly I was curious about the woman who’s made such an impression on my brother. If I’d told you who I was you wouldn’t have acted naturally. I wanted to see you when you weren’t trying to impress me.’

‘Your conceit is past belief. What makes you think I’d have been trying to impress you?’

‘I credit you with enough intelligence to know that you can’t marry my brother without impressing me first.’

‘Always assuming that I want to marry Lorenzo. I don’t think I do, not if it means being related to you.’

‘I admit I was a little clumsy. But perhaps you’ll forgive me when you hear what I have to say. I admired your behaviour greatly, especially when I abandoned the sale and you lost a large commission. You controlled yourself splendidly.’

‘You—did—that—on—purpose?’ she breathed.

‘Of course. And you passed with flying colours. Lorenzo tends to be emotional and impulsive. Your cool, northern efficiency will be good for him. My congratulations. You’ve gone the right way to earn my respect.’

‘And you’re going the right way to earn a chocolate mousse over your head,’ she threatened, not in the least appeased by these compliments. ‘You actually—you actually—?’

‘The lady has finished eating,’ Renato said to a waiter, hastily removing her plate with his own hands. ‘You may bring the coffee— No—’ He corrected himself on seeing the glint in Heather’s eyes. ‘Best leave the coffee until later.’

When they were alone again he turned to her. ‘Please don’t be angry. I promise you, the opinion I formed of you was entirely favourable.’

‘The opinion that I formed of you was far from favourable. The things you said to me—’

‘I wanted to see if you’d respond to my money—’

‘If I was a fortune-hunter!’ she snapped.

‘The choice of words is yours, but the meaning is the same.’

Heather prided herself on her practical common sense, but this man annoyed her enough to make her toss it aside and take risks instead. The next words seemed to come out of their own accord.

‘You’d have looked silly if I’d said yes, wouldn’t you?’ she said coolly.

‘Why? Are you saying that you wouldn’t have delivered? I doubt it. I think you’re a woman of your word. If you’d promised to sleep with me, you’d have slept with me. We’d have enjoyed a mutually pleasurable experience—’

‘Oh, really?’

‘I promise you it would have been.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to give me signed testimonials from Elena and all the other fictitious ladies.’

‘They’re real enough, and I think they’d vouch for me—although not, perhaps, under these circumstances—’

‘At the price you offer I should hope they’d vouch for you under all circumstances. Otherwise they wouldn’t be giving what you pay them for, would they?’

That flicked him on the raw, she was glad to notice. His eyes glittered with a strange, dark light. ‘Perhaps I’ve only myself to blame if you sharpen your claws on me,’ he said after a moment. ‘Let it be. I made you a genuine offer—’

‘And never mind what it did to Lorenzo.’

‘If you’d accepted I’d have been doing him a favour, and he’d have seen that.’

‘People always see things your way, do they?’

‘With time and persuasion.’

She regarded him wryly. ‘Does that mean that, given time and persuasion, you think you could have seduced me?’

He was suddenly alert. ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘I simply don’t know.’

It was like playing chess, she found, and suddenly very thrilling. Shrewdly she moved her queen into the centre of the board, inviting attack. ‘Perhaps you just didn’t raise the price high enough,’ she murmured.

‘What are you saying?’

‘Don’t you know that a woman who seems honest can charge twice as much as her more blatant sisters?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly. ‘I know that. What now?’

‘Come a little nearer, and I’ll tell you.’

Slowly he moved his head closer to her. Heather leaned forward until her hair lightly brushed his face, and her breath fanned his cheek.

‘I wouldn’t want you if you were the last man on earth,’ she whispered. ‘Go and jump in the river, and take your money with you!’

He turned his head so that his eyes looked directly into hers. They were hard with astonishment, cold, appraising. ‘You are a very unexpected lady,’ he said. ‘And a very brave one.’

‘I don’t need to be brave. You can’t harm me because you have nothing that I want.’

‘Except that I hold your marriage to Lorenzo in my hands. I’m particular about who I take into my family—’

‘Then you’ll be relieved to know that you won’t be asked to accept me,’ she said, drawing back and facing him with furious eyes. ‘Let me make my position plain. I hope Lorenzo wasn’t planning to propose, because my answer would be no, and you are the reason.’

‘Heather—’ came Lorenzo’s dismayed voice from behind her. He had returned in time to hear the last words.

She jumped to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Lorenzo, but it’s over. We had a lovely romance but it was just a fairy tale. Now it’s reality time, and your reality is your very unpleasant brother.’

He seized her arms. ‘Don’t go like this. I love you.’

‘And I love you, but I’m saying goodbye.’

‘Because of him? Why?’

‘Ask him. Let him tell you if he dares.’

She pulled free and stormed away. Lorenzo started after her but Renato growled, ‘Leave this to me.’

Anger gave speed to Heather’s feet and she’d already whisked herself halfway down the Long Gallery before Renato had caught up with her.

‘This is ridiculous,’ he said, reaching for her arm.

‘Don’t call me ridiculous,’ she seethed, shaking him off. ‘What’s ridiculous is you thinking you can move people like pawns on a chess board.’

‘I haven’t had much difficulty so far,’ he was rash enough to say.

‘So I guessed. But you hadn’t met me then.’

‘Indeed I hadn’t—’

‘It’s been a short acquaintance, not a pleasant one. This is where it ends.’

She turned away sharply and headed for the street. Outside, the night traffic of Piccadilly honked and blared. Renato caught up with her at the door, taking her arm again. ‘Please, Heather, come back inside and let’s discuss this calmly.’

‘I don’t feel calm. I feel like throwing something at your head.’

‘You’re punishing Lorenzo because you’re mad at me, and that isn’t fair.’

‘Not, it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he has you for a brother, but he’s stuck with you. I’m not, however, and I intend to keep it that way.’

‘All right, insult me if it gives you pleasure—’

‘After the way you’ve insulted me, it gives me more pleasure than I can say!’

‘But don’t do this to Lorenzo.’

‘I’m doing it for Lorenzo. We’d only make each other unhappy. Now, will you please let me go, or do I have to scream for a policeman?’

She pulled free and stormed out onto the pavement, heading straight across the road to where she could see a taxi approaching. She was too angry for caution. Through the noise of the traffic she thought she heard Renato’s horrified voice shouting her name. She didn’t see the car bearing down on her, only the glare of the headlights against the darkness. Then Renato seized her and swung her violently sideways. Somebody screamed, there was an ugly sound of brakes, and the next moment she was lying in the road.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. But she didn’t seem to be injured. A crowd was gathering around her, hands outstretched. Lorenzo burst through, crying, ‘Heather, my God! Oh, my God!’

His voice rose on a note of horror and she realised that he wasn’t looking at her but at his brother. Renato lay in the road, bleeding from a wound in his arm. With a terrible sick feeling Heather saw why Lorenzo had cried out. Renato looked as though he’d severed an artery. Blood was streaming from his arm in a river, and if something wasn’t done fast he had little time left.

‘Give me your tie,’ she told Lorenzo. ‘Quickly!’

He wrenched it off, while she fumbled in her bag for her pen. Her head was spinning but she fought to clear it while her hands moved swiftly, wrapping the tie around Renato’s arm above the wound, knotting it, slipping the pen through and twisting it. Renato’s eyes were open and he was looking at her, but she tried to think of nothing but what she was doing, twisting, twisting, while the tourniquet around his arm grew tighter and tighter, until at last—oh, thank God!—the bleeding lessened and stopped as the vein was closed.

‘Lorenzo—’ she gasped.

‘Yes,’ he said, taking the tourniquet from her. ‘I’ll hold it now.’

‘Thank you—I’m feeling a little—’ Her head was swimming.

‘No, you’re not going to faint,’ Renato murmured.

‘Aren’t I?’

‘A woman like you doesn’t faint. She takes over and gives orders, but she never weakens.’ His voice was almost inaudible, but she heard every word.

‘Let us through, please.’

Suddenly an ambulance was there, the crew urging their way through the crowd, taking over. There were police too, talking to the motorist who was wringing his hands and protesting his innocence. Heather forced her head to clear. She still had something to do.

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she said urgently to the policeman. ‘I ran out in front of him.’

‘All right, miss, we’ll talk at the hospital,’ the young constable said.

Lorenzo helped her into the ambulance and sat beside her, pulling off his jacket and wrapping it around her, warming her against the shock. Renato presented a ghastly sight, covered in blood and with a pallor on his face that suggested death hadn’t been far off. One of the crew was giving him oxygen, and at last he opened his eyes over the mask. His gaze wandered to Heather, then to Lorenzo. His expression was intent, as though he were sending a silent message to one of them. Or perhaps both.

At the hospital Renato was hurried away for emergency treatment, while Heather’s grazes were tended. She emerged to find Lorenzo sitting in the corridor with two policemen. She repeated what she’d said before, exonerating the driver. At last they left, satisfied, and she could be alone with Lorenzo.

He put his arms about her. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

‘Yes, it was just scratches. What about Renato?’

‘He’s in there.’ He indicated the opposite door. ‘They’ve stopped the bleeding and given him a transfusion. He’s got to stay here a few days, but he’s going to be all right.’

A doctor emerged. ‘You can come in for a minute. Just one of you.’

‘I’m his brother,’ Lorenzo said, ‘but this is my fiancée—please.’

‘All right, but try to be quiet.’

Renato looked less alarming without his blood-stained clothes, but still very pale. He was lying with his eyes closed, not moving but for the light rise and fall of his chest.

‘I’ve never seen him this still,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Usually he’s striding about, giving orders. What did he say to make you storm out like that?’

‘I can hardly remember. Whatever it was, I shouldn’t have put his life in danger.’

‘I only know that he was bleeding to death and you saved him. Thank you, amor mia. I know he can be a bear, but he’s a good fellow really. Thank God you were there!’

‘If I hadn’t been there it wouldn’t have happened,’ she said, touched by his belief in her, but feeling guilty at the same time.

Lorenzo slipped an arm about her shoulders. She rested her head against him and they sat together, exchanging warmth and comfort.

‘Are you angry that I called you my fiancée?’ he asked after a while.

‘No, I’m not angry.’

‘Do you love me enough to forgive Renato, and take me on?’

Renato’s eyes had opened and he was watching them. ‘Say yes,’ he urged her. ‘Don’t turn us down.’

‘Us?’

‘If you marry one Martelli, you get the whole pack of us.’

‘I’ll be a good husband,’ Lorenzo vowed. ‘Good enough to make up for Renato.’

‘What more do you need to hear than that?’ Renato asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said with a smile. ‘I guess I can take the risk!’

Suddenly everything was happening fast. The traumatic evening had swept her up in a fierce tide of emotion, and under its influence she’d promised to marry Lorenzo.

In an instant, it seemed she was part of the Martelli family. Renato had stretched out his good hand and clasped hers, weakly, but with warmth. ‘Now I shall have a sister.’

Within twenty-four hours her left hand bore a ring with a large diamond. Two days later she saw the brothers off from Heathrow Airport, knowing that her own ticket was booked for a month ahead.

Now she was on the flight to Palermo, still wondering what had come over her. Beside her sat Dr Angela Wenham: Angie, her closest friend and flatmate, who was enjoying a well-earned holiday.

‘I’m so glad you asked me to come with you as bridesmaid,’ Angie said now. ‘I’m looking forward to a few days just living for pleasure.’

Besides being brainy and hard working Angie was also pretty, daintily built, and a social butterfly. Her recent stint on hospital night duty had severely restricted her romantic life, and she was intent on making up for it, if the smile on her delightful, impish face was anything to go by.

‘Fancy you being swept off your feet,’ Angie chuckled ‘Much more my style than yours.’

‘Yes, it’s not like sturdy, dependable me, is it?’ Heather mused. ‘And the way I acted that night—I swear I didn’t know myself. Normally I’m a quiet sort of person, but I was ranting and raving, telling him where to get off—’

Angie collapsed with laughter. ‘You? Ranting and raving? How I wish I’d been there to see that!’

‘I swear it’s true. I even told him I disliked him enough to turn Lorenzo down.’

‘Wasn’t that true?’

‘No, it wasn’t. But he got me so mad I said the first thing that came into my head.’

Angie looked mischievous. ‘You did say he had two brothers, didn’t you?’

‘You’re incorrigible,’ Heather laughed. ‘I’ve only met Renato.’

‘Ah, yes, the monster Renato.’

‘I have to be fair. He’s not a monster. I was mad at the way he inspected me, but he could have died because of me. He’s welcomed me into the family, and he actually restored his cancelled order afterwards. Someone turned up from the Ritz and collected it.’

‘Tell me about the other one.’

‘There’s also a half-brother, called Bernardo. Their father had an affair with a woman from one of the mountain villages, and Bernardo was their son. They were together in the car crash that killed them both, and Lorenzo’s mother took the boy in and raised him with her own sons.’

‘What an incredible woman!’

‘I know. Her name’s Baptista, and if I’m worried about anything, it’s how she’s going to view me.’

‘But you showed me the letter she wrote you. It was lovely.’

‘It’s just that someone who can put her own feelings aside to do what she saw as her duty—well, you’d never really know what she was thinking, would you?’

‘It’s what Lorenzo thinks about you that counts,’ Angie said staunchly. ‘Hey, isn’t that Sicily, down there?’

From here they could see the triangular island: close to Italy, yet apart from it, separated only by a narrow strip of water, the Straits of Messina, yet with its own distinct identity.

‘A Sicilian,’ Lorenzo had told her, ‘is always a Sicilian first and an Italian afterwards. Sometimes he is barely an Italian at all. So many races meet in us that we think of ourselves as a race apart, doing things our own way.’

She was searching for him as soon as she and Angie left Customs. And there he was, with another man. He waved eagerly to her and broke into a run. Heather hastened towards him, while Angie brought up the rear, smiling, pushing the baggage trolley, and eyeing the second man with pleasurable speculation.

Lorenzo hugged his bride, kissing her between words. ‘It’s been such—a long—time, my darling.’

‘Yes—yes,’ she said kissing him back.

It was marvellous how certain she was now that she was here. Within a few minutes of landing in Sicily Heather knew she had come home. Everything about this place felt perfect, even before she’d discovered the details. And that could only mean that she was doing the right thing in marrying Lorenzo.

‘This is my brother, Bernardo,’ Lorenzo said at last, indicating the man with him.

‘Half-brother,’ murmured the man.

‘Bernardo, meet Heather, my bride-to-be.’

She introduced Angie to Lorenzo. But when he tried to present Bernardo his brother waved him away with a grin. ‘We’ve already introduced ourselves,’ he said, ‘while you two were—er—saying hello.’

This caused general laughter. Bernardo took charge of the trolley and they made their way to the car, where he invited Angie to sit in the front with him.

‘They won’t want to be disturbed,’ he said, smiling.

So many sensations were converging on Heather that she had only a confused impression of the most brilliant colours she had ever seen, the bluest sky, the sweetest air. Bernardo swung the car around the outskirts of Palermo and down the coast, and soon the Residenza Martelli came into sight.

Heather sat up to watch it eagerly. Lorenzo had told her about his home, how it was built on an incline, overlooking the sea, but no words had conveyed its beauty. It rose before them, tier upon tier, balcony on balcony, each one a sea of blooms. Geraniums, jasmine, white and red oleanders, clematis and bougainvillaea danced together in a dizzying riot of colour that was always in perfect harmony.

Then they were on a winding road that twisted and turned, bringing the villa nearer until at last they swung into a courtyard. A flight of broad steps led up to a wide, arched entrance, with a door that was being opened from the inside. Through it came a small, elderly woman, making her way slowly with the aid of a walking stick. She took her place on the top step.

‘That’s my mother,’ Lorenzo said, taking Heather’s hand to lead her up the stairs.

Baptista looked imperious, despite her evident frailty and the fact that she barely came up to Lorenzo’s shoulder. She was in her early sixties, but illness had aged her and she looked older. Beneath her shining white hair her face was sharp, and her brilliant blue eyes missed nothing. But Heather saw the warmth in those eyes, and when the thin arms went around her she felt the unexpected strength in the old woman’s embrace.

‘Welcome, my dear,’ Baptista said. ‘Welcome to the family.’

She was beaming, her expression full of kindness. She greeted Angie equally warmly. ‘When you have seen your room, then we can take a little refreshment together.’

Although the house bore the modest title of Residenza, it might more aptly have been called a palace. It was built in medieval style, of beautiful yellow stone, with long tile and mosaic corridors. The rooms were lined sometimes with marble, sometimes with tapestries. Everywhere Heather saw wealth, beauty, elegance, and an inbred assumption of authority.

She and Angie were sharing a huge room. It bore two large four-poster beds hung with white net curtains which matched those at the tall windows leading onto the broad terrace, facing inland. Beneath it was the huge garden, and beyond that the land stretched away until it rose into dark, misty mountains on the horizon. Everywhere the colours had a vividness Heather had never seen before. After the pastel shades of England their sheer depth and brightness overwhelmed her.

A maid helped them unpack, then showed them out onto the terrace that went all around the house, and led them to the front, where Baptista was seated at a small rustic table, looking out over the bay. Bernardo and Lorenzo were there, and immediately drew out chairs, and when they were seated filled their glasses with Marsala. A larger table nearby was laden with Sicilian cheesecake, zabaglione, coffee ice with whipped cream, candied fruit ring, and several other things that they were too dazed to take in.

‘I wasn’t sure of your preferences, so I ordered a variety,’ Baptista murmured.

The food and wine were delicious. Overhead a flowered awning sheltered them from the bright sun, and a soft breeze was springing up. Heather wondered how she had ever lived before coming to this perfect place. Lorenzo kept catching her eye and smiling, and his smile was irresistible, making her return it.

‘That’s enough,’ Baptista said imperiously, tapping his hand. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to play the fool, my son. Go away now, and let me get to know your bride.’

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